


I think I kind of want you

by gummyconcrete



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Boys Kissing, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, POV Kozume Kenma, hand holding, istg kuroo smirks and imma wait at the altar. okay, the docs file is: kuroo's hair is a+
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:20:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22253311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gummyconcrete/pseuds/gummyconcrete
Summary: — ft. gatorade bottles, volleyball and video games.“You’re so uninterested,” their newest member, Lev comments—it's more of an observation, really—as he picks up one of the Gatorade bottles on the rack.“Senpai is always like that,” one of the first-years remark.“Not true,” Kuroo says, and he offers a bottle to Kenma. “You just got to get to know the guy, yeah?”
Relationships: Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou
Comments: 8
Kudos: 101





	I think I kind of want you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dusk_Musings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dusk_Musings/gifts).



> when u think u know how to serve like oikawa and you dislocate ur shoulder pffft

(22)

Kenma scratches his shorts; the nylon chaffs at his thighs. He stares at his volleyball shoes, at the squeaky clean floors of the court. 

“Oi, Kenma,” Kuroo says, beckoning him. Kenma blinks, looks up at him. 

Kuroo’s eyes are lazy but still focused, somehow. He’s grinning: a lopsided smile, one edge of his lips raised up, teeth bared. Kenma counts three seconds to absorb the different directions the guy’s hair was pointing in.

.

.

.

(42)

Kenma’s playing his video game, hunched over, concentrated. It’s night time, and everyone else is asleep, tired from the activities of the day at Camp. Kenma couldn’t quite fall asleep, for some reason. He’s always been more of a night owl anyway. 

But it’s fine. He enjoys this time, anyway: when night bleeds into day, and the moon slants through blinds, and there’s hush save for the droll snoring of others. He finds this time peaceful and lonely and calm.

The blankets are thrown over his head, and he’s playing some Korean Horror game of scary janitors and haggling female schoolmates. The light of his laptop blears at him, and illuminates his blankets. 

Kenma isn’t scared of the psychotic janitor, but when he hears shuffling from outside his little cocoon, he hits pause, jolts, and pulls the blanket down, eyes blowing wide.

His captain was lying down on the futon beside his, and he had stirred in his sleep. His eyes were still closed, but he had twisted under the blankets. He faces Kenma, lips parted. There are cowlicks in his hair, and it’s even more unruly than useful.

Oh. Okay. Kenma turns back to his game, resumes it.

He can’t focus though. 

.

.

.

(88)

Kenma finds it exciting. It’s a foreign feeling; he’s only ever felt indifference towards most things. But it’s something exciting and new and exhilarating when there’s skin on skin.

Kuroo slides his fingers past Kenma’s, and the blond can’t help but stare at it.

Its appearance is rather normal. Just two hands tangled, fingers interlaced. But there’s something that sparks in Kenma’s mind, and it’s warm and new and perfect.

.

.

.

(37)

Kenma likes to set for Kuroo, especially when they make the shot. He likes to think it’s because of the appreciation and satisfaction of making a coordinated movement. 

But it’s more like this. 

Time seems to forget them for a few moments, and so does the rest of the world. For a moment it isn’t them standing on a court, amidst half a dozen players with a coach and a manager. 

There’s only Kenma and Kuroo, and the world blotches out to white. Kenma brings to arms up, and there’s the aimed and calculated push that setters are renown for. Kuroo is a bounding figure as he completes the run-up and launches in the air, and he slams the ball with power and precision. The ball lands in the other court.

Kuroo grins at Kenma, and it’s something that they share.

Then the world slides back in place, and time resumes its ticking. 

The moment ends.

.

.

.

(74)

“You’re so uninterested,” their newest member, Lev comments—more of an observation, really—as he picks up one of the Gatorade bottles on the rack.

Kenma swipes through his text messages, not sparing a reply. 

“Senpai is always like that,” one of the first-years remark. 

The rest of the members mumble in agreement. 

“Not true,” Kuroo says, and he offers a bottle to Kenma. “You just got to get to know the guy, yeah?” 

Kenma mulls the words over and over and over in his head. Outwardly, he just thanks the Captain for the drink, and switches off his phone.

.

.

.

(97-A)

“Hey,” Kuroo says.

Kenma’s eyes are closed. The bend of his knee presses into Kuroo’s thigh. The air is tense, warm. He bites his lips, and sucks in a breath. His heart is racing, his body is coiling up everywhere.

Kuroo brushes his palm over Kenma’s shoulder, and then echoes, voice in a hush,“Hey. Hey. Come on, open your eyes. Look at me.”

Kenma does. 

.

.

.

(75)

There’s something about Kuroo, today, Kenma decides. Something different. 

Not in the way he was acting, not really, but rather in the way Kenma was perceiving him. It’s about these weird moments, too, that he catches his pulse escalating.

It’s about the seconds that his eyes linger on him, about the odd places his gaze gets caught, the breath he holds for no apparent reason, and about the way he wants to—wants to do, he— he wants _something_ . But he’s not sure _what_.

Kenma registers the way his broad shoulders fit into his school uniform shirt with a bit too much interest, he spent a little time dwelling on the shadow of his Adam’s apple, and he seemed to be drawn to his loosened tie paired with his first two undone buttons, and there was surely something stirring about his rolled-up sleeves.

Kenma wants.

.

.

.

(4)

When they first meet, Kenma is a first-year, and Kuroo is a second-year. 

Kuroo is a tall, taut figure of lean and clean features. Everything about him is cool angles and sharp lines, jagged hair and pointed smirks. 

He has a firm way of blocking out spikes, jumping with arms poised forth, the shadow caught in his palms. The ball would make two sounds: the sure _smack_ of his block, and subsequent _slam_ against the floor. 

Huh, is all that Kenma thinks. Then he turns and continues to practice setting, the volleyball light in his fingers. 

.

.

.

(97-B)

“I want to set for you,” Kenma says, when they’re kissing. He says it in the process, really—between those tiny breaks, when Kuroo pulls away to rest their foreheads together, and their breaths mingle in their shallow bursts.

Kuroo straightens, “What?”

“I want to set for you,” he echoes. “Right now.”

“Sure, I guess. Why?”

“I don’t know,” Kenma admits, staring at their intertwined fingers. “I just want to.”

Kuroo brings their hands to his mouth and presses his lips on Kenma’s knuckles. “Let’s go.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> some thingies to know:
> 
>   * the game that kenma was playing is **white day: a labyrinth named school** and when i played it i shat my pants because it was the first video game i had played (other than like. pkmn or wii or super smash bros or like. mario & sonic) 
>   * the numbers are a thing for non leniar fics. i hope it wasn't uncomfortable to read, sorry. the whole feel is of transient moments shuffled together. if u have questions regarding it i'm all ears 
> 

> 
> alright that's it thankkkkkk
> 
> oh wait um. also my requests are open,, on my [tumblr](https://gummyconcrete.tumblr.com) so uhhh. i'd love to write for ya :))


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